Page 97 of Sure Shot
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I promise them.
“Are you flying to Texas to see it all go down?” Becca sketches a pig in a blanket into her planner.
“Maybe,” I hedge. “I’m supposed to head out to a juniors tournament the following day. But I haven’t bought any tickets yet.”
“I think you should come with us,” Georgia decides. “And Tank would agree with me. This game is going to be harder on him than anyone.”
“It is,” I agree. “I’m considering it.”
I’ve been considering it all week. But there’s a wrinkle I can’t talk about. The Dallas game happens to fall in the midpoint of my cycle. And I’m honestly not sure whether that’s a point in favor of making the trip, or not.
Am I really crazy enough to bethatwoman? The one who secretly tracks my fertility to try to give my boyfriend the baby he thought he could never have? Is that true love? Or just plain cuckoo?
Tank told me he can’t go there again. And I told him he didn’t have to. When I said that I’d love him no matter what, I meant it.
But a little voice in my head keeps asking:What if it just happened? What if you could have it all?
What if. What if. What if…
“Why don’t you fly out with Nate and me on the Gulfstream?” Becca says suddenly. “We could brainstorm ideas for the women’s team all the way to Texas. And you could leave for your tournament the day after the game.”
“Okay,” I say quickly.Tooquickly. Becca just handed me the excuse I needed. A free trip on her private jet. And an opportunity to help women’s hockey.
This girl is going to Dallas.
This girl feels a little funny about it.
Thirty-One
Queso is Magic
Tank
“You nervous?”Silas Kelly asks me as we get off the jet in Dallas.
“Nah.” After almost a decade in the Show, a game is only a game, right? It’s just Tuesday.
But maybe I spoke too soon. The minute the bus pulls up at the stadium, my confidence starts to veer a little sideways. Suiting up in the visitors’ locker room feels wrong. And sitting on the other bench will just seem freaky.
Not that I’m letting it show. During the pregame rituals, I ignore all the strangeness and try to concentrate. I tape up my stick, and then tape it up again. Nothing to see here.
There’s tension in the room. Castro sits across from me, chewing his lucky peanut butter sandwich like it’s life or death. Silas is—as usual—stretching his body on the floor, getting limber to mind the goal. But he’s also eyeing us, one by one, wondering if we’re ready.
Coach walks by, grabbing my shoulder pad and giving it a hard squeeze. “Don’t let him rile you up.”
“I won’t,” I grunt. There’s no need to ask who he means. All week Palacio has been talking smack on Twitter—making predictions, and making sure the whole world knows that my production is down this year. He’s all about the bullshit mind games.
Ican’tlet that fucker win.
“Listen up, guys!” Rebecca trots into the room, wearing a purple dress and matching heels. “Tonight, rain or shine, we’re having a victory party in the hotel lobby.”
“What?” Castro yelps. “Did you justjinxus? Have youmethockey players?”
“I thought you might say that,” Rebecca says with a smile. “But victory means something special to me tonight. This is only one regular-season game. It doesn’t matter all that much.”
“It does to me,” O’Doul grumbles.
“Be that as it may,” Rebecca says, undaunted. “Nate is in Dallas with us tonight, and this is the city where he proposed to me. So that’s a victory right there. Furthermore, the last time we had a victory party at this hotel, they served the mostamazingqueso dip, and I’ve been thinking about it for two years.”
